Book: Puppet master

Now we will focus on the "problem of the finishing tape."
We - I mean humanity - are categorically not able to perceive the finals. Happy? - non-life, shall we say. It does not happen. Terrible? - offended in the best feelings, we branim the author for what has deprived us of hope. Give, you son of a bitch, though, sail on the horizon! Ambiguity? - o, boiling from anger, we are ready to kill the bastard that put us before a choice. Choose - the curse of the human race, and Yes it passes us! Outdoor? - we did deprive this hitch proud name: "finals". Think self - torture. But if at the end of the narrative is bold point, issued to all sisters on earrings, and every Sandpiper swamp - honestly, we will never forgive the Creator, cleverly linking the ends meet, the only one, but a mortal sin.
He has deprived us of the ability to continue, isn't it?! Finals are not our strong point. They insult the human subconscious mind by the fact of its existence. Could this be the key to our monstrous vitality?

The most dangerous misconception - when you think that the limit of the shocks is exhausted. Balance the sky to the ground, remove the space inside out, revealing the dusty edges of the frames, decorations, charms cactus in the Conservatory, reading a lecture on the history of hairdressing - you and not blink an eye. All saw a lot of different have suffered, a peck of salt eaten and a dog bit... Here is what it will do with a scope.

Person deprived of sense of rhythm, can not explain why one dancer in the chorus destroys the entire stage composition. No matter how much I poke a girl with your finger, tapping quarters and eighths on the arm of the chair - nothing. To shrug their shoulders and send you to hell, not to interfere to admire.
Person deprived of a musical ear, will not explain why you were mangles, when the second violin takes a clean f instead of f sharp. Well, sharp. Pathetic half-tone. And in addition to the second violin in an orchestra full of other tools - the good, the right. And pleasant music. Tiram-pam-pam. Go away, nerd.
Person deprived of sense of humor, not explain what the salt of the anecdote. At least for the tenth time set out, accentuating every nuance and salt completely dissolved in the water exclusion, and the solution will lose even a hint of flavor. Similarly he will not be able to prove to you that to fart in the living room full of people - is the height of Comedy.
"And we like it!" - and ending the conversation.
Lord, for what punished?! - giving dignity, creates a heap of problems... Like that, huh? Really like?!

The hardest thing to do. It means to make a mistake. It means to get tired. To seek funding. To gather forces. Plow like an ox. Straining like hell. Aim to complete. To break. To build. Create. No, not to work. To do. It means to have enemies. To attract advisers. Any business, advisers are flying, as you know who you know where. To argue. To prove. To carry. To listen to stupid jokes. To know that if they did, it would have done better. To choke this bitch "to". Delirious nights, stranger, evil, cow; "And W-we-s b-be-s..." Sleep with one eye open. Tear veins. To do, in short. Well, that's - did. Wiped his wet forehead. Exhaled: "Okay! And it was very good..." I Think you'll put a monument? Enema you put...

We give dreams too much attention. A prophetic dream. A bad dream. Sleep in the arm. Road map dreams. Travel in the dream world. Penetration into other realities. The astral, the mental, the air... Behind all this lies the fear of fireworks - is banal, boring, as the view from the window at the construction site. When we are conscious when awake we clearly feel like habits, standards and norms surround us in a protective circle. But in a dream? In the dream, we can sneak up on you, and we will not hear. In the dream, we hurt, and we don't have time to defend himself. The vulnerability of sleep, the vulnerability of sleep; trusting that undermines support of alertness. Let's awesoem her medals and orders, dress up in a mysterious costume, wear a mask with a long nose and ears like bats; let us give in to the fear of originality, let's add secrets, like pepper in the soup... a Dream to compare love with death. Another layer of husks.

One and the same person enjoys the 6th concert of Shteiman for bassoon and orchestra, and an hour later, a degenerative comedian show "Look under your skirt." The same people crying, standing in Kremenskoy gallery of art of the "Sorrowful Regina", and the next day wears away the tears, flipping through another volume of the adventures of interplanetary Martyr Anna-Maria Rudebox. You give a beggar a penny and spend a hundred on a hooker. Translate the old woman through road, and forget about the death of his mother. Holy watch over the diet to one day drink myself to death under a steak, rare. Fighting with each other, make peace with the enemy; confuse one with the other, say compliments and nasty to each of them in turn, and you are sincere in all cases. Why "you"? - I. We. The world would be disgusting if we were made that way.

In the beam of light dancing dust motes. Their dance is simple and unpretentious. They circle, soar, to fall, to face that after a moment to scatter in different directions. Dust to dust, light to light. Their dance can be observed forever. But eternity - a figure of speech, nothing more. In the darkness of space dance of the sun. Their dance is complex and ambitious. They fly, flash to off, compressed to explode and burn through the silk lining of the universe. Darkness to darkness, light to light. Stars, elephants, stars, horses, stars, the deer, are part of the universal merry-go-round. But the carousel - a figure of speech, nothing more. Organic porridge, heavily involved in fear and passion, bubbling people. Their gurgling like the croaking of frogs in the pond. They boil, boil soft, successor, sdobrivayut oil, lay side-by-side; Ah, these little people will make a mess, for sure... a Grain to a grain, the fate to destiny. Somewhere in the total pot at the bottom is me. I'm a figure of speech. No more.

- Why are you personally involved in the search? - asked Julia.
I'm a lawyer Borgatti.
- So what? You breech counsel. You were appointed. Where is the zeal?
- Let's say I'm an honest lawyer. Don't believe? Well, why are you looking? Don't tell me that you are his bride!
- I - his employer. He was going to sign a contract with me.
- First see the employer chasing the employee escaped across the Galaxy.
- You're the lawyer for the risk imposed on the client.
- Well and how?
- I like you.
- You I - too.

Never have to complain about the difficulties. The time will come and put everything in its place. If yesterday something seemed a feat last feat - psychobabble amid the rage of the day.

Sincerity is not artistic value. When the Creator cries on every corner that has invested in the creation of his soul - he's funny. When pleading to forgive him, exhausted, splashing out at the indifferent face all the blood out of veins - is doubly ridiculous Who needs his soul? Who needs it, without a soul left in the creature? What is more important: did the creation of our own soul? The one and only? Slap the baby's ass, let him scream, let the life is then we'll see... the Sincerity of your pledge to God. But to redeem the pledge will have on other media.

Julia suddenly became easy-easy. At least sing a song. The sudden relief had always come when she dumped the weight of choice, the burden of reflection was going on the first path which presented itself at his feet. Head down the cliff? - let, but go.

He knew that the main damage to the fire chief brings the General's public criticism of his decisions. If you didn't want to get you started to ignore as a useless piece of furniture, have followed any decision to admit is brilliant. And only then, ostensibly to ensure that Junior officers have better learned the wondrous plan, you could ask for permission to make a number of modest refinements. After this foreplay adviser received a carte Blanche for any actions, though the whole of the original plan turn inside out.

I hate the definition of "creative person".
No, it's kind of a snot on a roadside stone and whines. Spring slush, summer heat, autumn rains, winter is cold; and with all his mental hemorrhoids. Colleagues envious, fans and flatterers, his wife - a bitch, indifferent - villains; and, again, from all he had erosion of the cervix Muse. Inspiration on the run was the stuff of life, the bug has bitten; well, who would doubt, fragile did not survive the collision with the iceberg of reality.
Cracked egg to top.
Say, Director Montélier, when it was known as a creative person, without delay hit in the face. Because genius.

Tartaglia asked, looking at him in emphasis with the innocence of a hardened crook.